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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075500">masks, gloves, and microban</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs'>guineaDogs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Married Sheith, Pandemics, Quarantine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:07:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,236</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, stress and anxiety from waking hours impact Keith's sleep. When it impacts one of his dreams, it takes a frustrating turn.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>masks, gloves, and microban</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wasn't planning on posting anything until January, but then I had a weird dream, had two hours to kill, and decided to make it Sheith. This isn't great or deep or anything. It's somewhere between a 2020 vent fic and a shitpost, but that's just how it be sometimes.</p>
<p>HMU on twitter @ guineaDogs any time</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith is dreaming. He knows he's dreaming, but that doesn't stop him from trying to enjoy it. He's been so exhausted lately that he hasn't dreamt, or at the very least, it's been a long while since he's remembered or been aware of his dreams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He might as well take advantage of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's his house, he thinks, in the sort of way one knows what's supposed to be his in a dreamscape, even if it's not quite right. He walks around the open concept living space, trailing his hand over the countertop. It looks like his home, but combined with a weird amalgamation of places he's been before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's elements of the castle ship, of the garrison, of his childhood home in the vast desert. But there's also things he doesn't recognize. Most obviously, it's not just dog toys scattered everywhere, but children's toys as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That doesn't seem right, but Keith is dreaming and nothing is ever as concerning as it would be if he were awake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost as soon as he notices the toys, he realizes he's not alone. Or he was alone, and now he isn't, as if his dream spliced two scenes together without a transition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The once empty couch has two small forms sitting on the couch. He can't see their faces clearly. He only has a vague sense that their hair is black, and that they're so small that their legs barely make it past the edge of the couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They're talking, but he can't understand them. It's like their words are trying to reach him while he's underwater. Keith brushes it off like this is just normal. Maybe it is. He can't begin to make sense of dreams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then there's the dogs. There's also two of them, and while they remind him of Kosmo in ways that are only logical in dreams, they're not Kosmo. But they're large and fluffy. One of them growls at him. It's not mean or aggressive– it's clear to Keith that the dog is trying to bait him into play.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Who is Keith to refuse the desires of any dog? Real or not, they're all Good Boys, so he picks up a ball from the floor and tosses it to the other side of the room. Both dogs immediately scamper after it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Shiro is home. Shiro looks like he always does– Shiro is beautiful and perfect and even his subconscious agrees because the difference between this Shiro and the real Shiro is imperceptible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wrongness of it all sets in when Shiro comes inside carrying a bag of groceries. The issue isn't that he went grocery shopping; it's what's missing. No sign of a mask. No sign of gloves. No expression that perfectly encapsulates the exhausted relief that occurs when one returns home from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Out There.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's not real. There's still part of Keith who is still aware of this as he dreams. It's not real so it's nothing to worry about. And yet...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, baby," Shiro says cheerfully. He looks particularly sexy unpacking the bag of groceries. Keith finds himself staring at his side profile, the outline of defined muscles beneath a knit shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything he dreamt previously doesn't really matter anymore it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of dream now. His body is growing aroused, and his dream is adjusting accordingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or so he thinks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's watching Shiro move about, and the way his muscles move from simple, basic actions has him wanting to drag Shiro back to their bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Shiro is focused on the groceries, chatting away, and Keith isn't sure if he's capable of talking in this dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"–and I got four tickets to the circus. They were free, we should all go." Shiro is closer now holding the tickets out. They're yellow and red, and look like the mass-produced sort that appear at every convenience, grocery store, and school periodically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith thinks about touching the slips of paper, but as before he can, he can clearly imagine the germs. The hoard of microscopic things he can't see travelling from the paper to his fingertips and spreading and spreading until it consumes him entirely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can't touch it. Shiro shouldn't be touching it. No one should be going to a circus. Then a vision of it comes to him: crowded bleachers of people, yelling and screaming, eating popcorn and peanuts with messy hands, saliva and droplets spewing from their mouths. He can see it happening in slow motion, getting everywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can't allow it. He tries to convey that to Shiro. They have to stay </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, where it's safe. Where he can protect them with canisters of space-grade Microban. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Shiro doesn't understand. His smile is the perfect picture of confusion and concern. His hand settles on Keith's hip and squeezes. He can't really feel it, but Keith pretends he does. "Are you sure you're alright, Keith? You can stay here if you want."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does. He wants to stay here where it's safe and when Shiro is back–</span>
  <em>
    <span>why can't he stop him? why isn't he taking this seriously</span>
  </em>
  <span>–Keith can drag him to bed and sink down on his thick cock, lean down and</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the space around him changes. He's not in his home, warm and safe. It's black and cold and there's nothing. Just him. And then Shiro is there, leaning in to kiss him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That's not the part he can focus on. Keith can't separate himself from the thought that Shiro went outside, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he went to a circus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and now he's infected and if he kisses Keith, his droplets will get into his mouth too and–</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>And he wakes up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He must have been thrashing about, because Kosmo takes it upon himself to sit on his chest, completely winding him. He's running hot, overheating under too many blankets. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Kosmo moves off of him, and in the early morning light he can see Shiro's brows knit with concern as he reaches out for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nightmare?" It's something they're both familiar with, and it doesn't matter if they're sleeping on Earth or in space or any other planet. Terrible dreams find them no matter where they go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith gives pause, trying to find the words to say while kicking off the blankets from half of his body so it isn't overwhelming to press against his husband like he desperately needs to. It's only then, when Shiro's arm is wrapped firmly around him that words come more easily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was… weird." Now that he's more awake, some things make more sense. They'd been discussing whether they wanted to foster or adopt. What that would look like, where they'd be in the universe, when they got the clearance to leave, when they could be certain that they wouldn't be bringing anything contagious along with them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As for the rest of it…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You dreamt about wanting to fuck, but were worried about getting sick from kissing me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith groans, digging his face into Shiro's neck. "It's really embarrassing when you put it like that." There's something to be said about essentially <i>blueballing</i> one's self in what should've otherwise been a pleasant dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shiro shifts, pulling back enough to kiss his forehead. "The good news is that we're married and live together, and the furthest outside we’ve been in weeks is the backyard. You can kiss me, or anything else, whenever you want." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so, he does.</span>
</p>
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